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Seated around a gas stove as the light fades and Ed cooks dinner is surprisingly pleasant. Dara hardly cares that his feet hurt and his back and shoulders ache and that Ed’s hair is still damp after the heavy downpour while they were putting the tent up.

“Thai green curry ok for you?” Ed’s voice is unusually soft in the silence of the glen.

“Yeah, grand.”

“Good, because that’s all I brought.” Ed spoons a share of the food onto a plate and hands it to Dara along with a piece of naan bread. “Eat up. You’ll never guess what’s for after.”

“You?” Dara suggests.

Ed laughs. “Have you ever tried having sex in a tent, Dara?”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Yeah, and there’s a last time for everything too. I’m well past trying to fuck in a tent. Eat that before it gets cold.”

For a while they eat in companionable silence. Ed’s eating his share straight from the cooking pot and looks like he’s daydreaming. It isn’t as bad as Dara was expecting, two days of walking, carrying their tents on their backs. Alright, the walking is proving hard work and his body is sore but it’s worth it to see Ed so happy. He’s positively glowing, cheeks pink from sun and wind and exercise, showing off the thin freckly arms he usually keeps hidden under long sleeves. This all comes very naturally to him and it’s a side of him Dara very rarely gets to see.

“What’s the plan for when we’ve finished eating, champ?”

“Sit outside looking at the sky until it gets too cold, go in the tent, read for a while, go to sleep,” Ed says. “It’ll be earlier than you’re used to but you don’t realise yet how tired you are.”

“Oh, I do,” Dara says emphatically. “I don’t know where you get your energy from. You look like you could happily walk another twenty miles.”

“I could. We’ve had quite a gentle day.” Ed wipes out his pot with the last of his bread.

“Gentle? What are your feet made of, steel?”

Ed taps his toes on the ground. “No. I’ve got good boots, well worn in and plenty of practice. If you walked as much as I do, your feet would be tougher too. Don’t worry, we’ll take it easy tomorrow too.”

Dara wrinkles his nose but he doesn’t really mind the effort when Ed’s so happy.

“You know how beautiful you are?”

Ed raises his eyebrows but he can’t help smiling. “Of course. Do you know how good you look?”

“Now you’re just being daft.”

“I’m not.” Ed leans over to kiss Dara. “Are you going to have any sticky chocolate cake with hot chocolate sauce?”

“You brought chocolate cake all the way out here?” Dara asks. “And chocolate sauce? Chocoholic!”

“You need extra calories on trips like this,” Ed says, shrugging. “And anyway, this is a bit back-to-basics so you need a few luxuries like chocolate cake if you can afford the extra weight in the bag.”

“Luxuries like whisky?” Dara pulls a hipflask from his coat pocket.

“That’ll do nicely.” Ed laughs. “Dark horse. I told you to pack light, not fill your pockets with alcohol.”

“I’m sleeping in a tent the size of a shoebox in Scotland after a really tough hike,” Dara points out. “Of course I’m bringing alcohol.”

“No getting too drunk. A hangover in a tent isn’t pretty.”

“When did you get sensible?”

“Sometime in my thirties, I think. It’s my job to make sure you get home safely tomorrow. Now, let’s have some cake with that whisky.”

The sachet of chocolate sauce is heated in a pot of near-boiling water and then Ed pours it over two pieces of cake more accurately described as “lumps” than “slices”. Nonetheless, it tastes good, especially eaten outside in the fresh air. Dara’s starting to get cold so the hot sauce and the whisky are very welcome.

“Are you shivering?” Ed demands suddenly through a mouthful of cake.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re fucking shivering.” Ed gets up and plants himself firmly in Dara’s lap. “Cuddle me, I’m warm.”

“That is a pitiful excuse for a cuddle,” Dara says. “And just how am I supposed to eat my cake with you sitting on me, you great lump?”

“Lump?” Ed repeats, deliberately wriggling on Dara’s lap, pretending to make himself comfortable. “I weigh nothing.”

Dara wraps his arms firmly around Ed and squeezes his stomach. “True, scrawny creature. Maybe you should eat my cake too.”

“I’d be delighted.”

They settle more comfortable with Dara’s back against a tree and Ed sitting between his legs where Dara can hold him close to his chest. It’s much warmer, even with Ed’s damp hair fluttering against his face and it feels like the first time all day he’s properly relaxed although he jumps when Ed accidentally lets a blob of hot chocolate sauce fall from a forkful of cake and it lands on his hand.

“Sorry,” Ed says, lifting Dara’s hand to lick it clean, a little more slowly and sensuously than is really necessary.

“If you’re serious about no sex in the tent, you shouldn’t tease me,” Dara says but he doesn’t try to remove his hand.

“I’m as disappointed as you about it,” Ed says. “But sex in a sleeping bag is almost impossible and it’s not good for the sleeping bag anyway. And sex in a tent is cold and damp and uncomfortable. You’re not particularly attractive cold and shivering and I look absolutely pathetic.”

“It’ll be dark,” Dara points out.

“It’ll still be cold and the ground’ll still be uncomfortable. Trust me, Dara. It won’t be fun. This is the best you’re going to get until we get home and I’m quite enjoying it.”

“Could be worse,” Dara says, kissing Ed’s hair. “I’m out in the middle of nowhere with not a soul for miles except my boyfriend, under the stars.”

***

In the end Ed falls asleep against Dara, who gently nudges him awake again.

“Sweetheart, wake up. What was that about me not knowing how tired I am?”

“I’ve had the extra responsibility of looking after you.” Ed yawns, rubbing his eyes. “Let me have a piss and brush my teeth and then I’ll come in the tent.”

In the confines of the tent, Dara manages to strip down to t-shirt and boxers. He has no real idea what he’s supposed to wear to sleep in a tent, Ed hasn’t mentioned that kind of detail, but it’s summer and the sleeping bag should be reasonably warm. He’s still trying to get comfortable in the thing when Ed crawls in, wearing a headtorch and trying to tug off his boots to leave them in the porch.

“Are you warm enough?” he asks, awkwardly manoeuvring off his jacket.

“I’ll do.”

“Sure? Don’t get cold, it takes forever to warm up again in a tent.”

By the bobbing light of the headtorch, Dara watches Ed undress, swap the t-shirt he’s been walking in for a less sweaty one and add a light fleece over the top. His socks get shoved into the rucksack and clean ones put in the bottom of his sleeping bag so they’re warm to put on in the morning and at last Ed slides into bed, clutching a book that looks far too big and heavy to carry across the Scottish mountains.

“What are you reading at the moment?” Dara asks and Ed turns the book so Dara can see it better. There’s really no need to ask, it’s almost always some kind of impenetrable fantasy because that’s Ed’s favourite. “Are you planning to use that monster as a pillow?”

“Not planning to. Wake me up again if I fall asleep on it.”

“I will.”

Ed doesn’t read for long and he puts the book aside before settling down to sleep, curled up as close to Dara as he can get when they’re both in sleeping bags.

“This is nice,” Dara murmurs. “I’m glad I let you bully me into it.”

“I’m glad you came. I’ve always wanted to go camping with you.” Ed yawns. “Go to sleep, then I can go to sleep.”

“You’re going to sleep anyway.”

“Yeah.”

***

When Dara wakes up in the morning, Ed’s gone. Dara sits up as best he can with restricted headroom, yawns and rubs his eyes. There’s a rustling sound outside and once he’s decided it’s not Ed on his way back into the tent, Dara unzips the inner and pulls back the fly so he can see out. Everything’s damp with dew and the sky is pale enough for him to see that it’s still very early without having to look at his watch. Ed’s squatted in front of the stove, huddled in his jacket with the hood up, his eyes looking tired and shadowed.

“Morning,” Dara says.

Ed turns, startled out of a daydream, and beams. “Hey. Welcome back.”

“Thought you’d abandoned me.”

“I thought you were dead,” Ed says, not looking at all concerned at the possibility. “I accidentally kicked you while I was trying to get out of the tent and you didn’t even stir. Coffee?”

“You know I don’t drink coffee.”

“Wondered if you might make an exception under the circumstances. Hot chocolate? You should have something hot to drink. And get dressed, you’ll get cold.”

“I never imagined you being such a motherly soul.” Dara retreats inside the tent to find his clothes and put them on. He can still hear Ed outside, barely muffled by the lightweight tent fabric. “Did you sleep ok? You’re usually only up at first light when you’ve been awake all night.”

“I slept like the dead and it wasn’t first light. It’s nice to be up early on the hill and have the world to yourself, that’s all. Although, to be honest, once the light started coming up, it was too bright to sleep anyway.”

Dara shoves his feet into his boots, doesn’t bother tying the laces just yet, and comes out to sit with Ed, shivering a little in the cold early morning air.

“You need a hot drink,” Ed says admonishingly.

“Can’t I skip the hot drink and go straight to breakfast?”

“Breakfast’s not ready yet. Hot water is.”

“I’ll be fine, beloved. You drink your coffee.”

Ed pours the boiling water in a large insulated mug, adds a few spoonfuls of instant coffee and a few more of sugar, stirs it and then sighs heavily.

“Nectar of the gods. You wouldn’t get me off this hill without my morning coffee. You can get started on breakfast if you want. There’s a couple of packets in my rucksack, you can’t miss them. But get some more water on the boil first.”

Dara pokes about with the stove. He has a vague idea how camping stoves work but this one is a little more complex than he’d realised. Soon enough Ed makes an impatient noise and puts the coffee aside.

“Just fill the pot with water, I’ll show you how to light it. Look, this small handle here, turn it clockwise to switch the gas on, you can hear it hissing, and then click the button to light. No matches necessary.” The stove flares back into life and Ed fits the pot, now refilled with water, onto the top. “Go and find the food and let me drink my coffee in peace.”

Breakfast, it appears, is porridge and boil-in-the-bag full English and Dara also unearths a small squeezy bottle of honey, half-eaten already. It’s one of Ed’s weaknesses, clearly enough so to be worth the extra weight.

“When the water’s boiling, pop the wet food in, in the bag.” Ed’s eyes are already looking brighter and less tired. “When it’s heated we can use the water to make the porridge. Did you find the honey?”

Dara holds it up and Ed nods, pleased. “I know you’re supposed to have your porridge before your fry-up but it’s more practical this way. And if you really want it, I liberated some sachets of ketchup from Burger King. They’re in the little plastic box with the matches.”

“I thought you didn’t need matches.”

“You’d be an idiot to depend on the piezo ignition,” Ed says, as if this is obvious to a first-time wild camper. “The matches are a backup.”

When the breakfast is eventually cooked – and it seems to take far longer than it would in a real kitchen at home – Dara discovers again that he’s much hungrier, and indeed much colder, than he’d realised. The food is simple and shouldn’t be very tasty but it tastes like a banquet fit for a king when he’s hungry and sitting out in the middle of nowhere with Ed far too early in the morning. Ed drowns his porridge in honey and lays out the plans for the day, now fully awake and full of enthusiasm.

“We’ll take in another top on the way home,” he says. “Maybe another two, depends how you’re doing. Don’t worry, it won’t be anything too tough and your rucksack’ll be lighter than yesterday because we’ve eaten most of the food and I’ll have room to take more of the tent off you.”

“God, we’ve got to get the tent down.” Dara eyes their little blue home.

“And then pitch it again when we get home because it’ll get mouldy if we pack it away wet.” Ed gets up and stretches. “If you’ve finished eating, let’s go on with it.”

Getting his sleeping bag back in its stuffsack proves the hardest job of the trip so far. Dara can’t comprehend how it fitted in there in the first place and by the time he’s forced it back in, with much swearing and a broken nail, Ed’s packed all his bedding away and is tying up guylines. It only takes a few minutes to disassemble the tent. Ed takes the pegs, poles and flysheet which leaves Dara with the inner to pack away in his rucksack. It doesn’t feel like much of a weight reduction but Dara doesn’t complain because he’s 99% sure Ed’s rucksack is heavier and Ed is not only much smaller but also frequently claims to have no muscle at all.

“Beautiful day,” Ed remarks. “Give me a kiss, my love, and then let’s get going.”

The bag is heavy, his feet are still sore, it’s cold and looks like it’s going to rain later and he still has a long day of hiking ahead of him. But Ed’s there and Ed’s happy and Dara’s willing to follow him across the middle of nowhere, over hill and mountain to make him happy. Besides, it’ll be a wonderful excuse for the two of them to stay in bed all day tomorrow.